Classic Poem

The noon of night drew swiftly on;
In silent rest lay Babylon.

Above, in castle halls alone,
Was tumult heard and bright lights shone.

For there, while yet his subjects slept,
A royal feast Belshazzar kept.

His courtiers sat in shining rank,
And sparkling wine from full cups drank.

Loud rose their shouts, the cups did ring;
The sound pleased well the stubborn king.

His cheeks flushed red with feverish hue,
With wine his reckless daring grew.

Impelled by its blind impulse, he
Blasphemed aloud the Deity.

His blust'ring voice and impious word
With loud applause his courtiers heard.

With haughty glance he gave command —
His slaves stood ready at his hand;

The golden vessels in were borne,
By impious hands from God's house torn.

The monarch seized a sacred cup,
With sparkling wine he filled it up;

With foaming mouth and impious cry,
He said — and drained the goblet dry —

To thee, thou God, now be it known
That I am King of Babylon!

The fearful words were scarcely said,
When o'er his heart fell secret dread;

The boisterous laugh at once was stilled;
The hall, a death-like silence filled.

And lo! and lo! on that white wall
A spectral hand was seen by all:

It wrote, it wrote on walls so white,
In words of fire — then passed from sight.

The king sat there with failing breath,
And trembling knees, and pale as death.

Benumbed with fear, the guests sat round,
Nor moved nor uttered they a sound.

The wise men came, but failed they all
To read the flame-scroll on the wall.

And ere the sun arose again
Belshazzar by his slaves was slain.